


When I'm Up Here

by WeaglesAndBrobeans



Series: A Very Capitals Collection [4]
Category: NHL - Fandom, RPF Hockey, Washington Capitals - Fandom
Genre: Frustration, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Language, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-20
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-08-04 18:03:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16351478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeaglesAndBrobeans/pseuds/WeaglesAndBrobeans
Summary: And to be honest it wasn't an anomaly. Oshie constantly ticked opponents off; he was big and pushy and fucking skilled. But while pushing and shoving was the name of the game, it usually wouldn't escalate to an intentional stick to the face.'Cause I'm not fucking out there to set em straight,' Tom thought to himself bitterly.





	When I'm Up Here

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a one shot that came to mind tonight as things got a bit crazy versus the Florida Panthers.  
> #FreeWilly

Before he even recognized that he was in motion, Tom Wilson found himself springing to his feet. Frustration and worry warred in his chest as he stared at the ice below.  
He hated watching games from the press box. He hated watching games period.  
But games like this? They took it to an entirely new level.  
Throughout the first period the refs had been anal- calling every little thing. Apparently they'd decided to ease up this period because the tension had mounted, frustrations were boiling over, and it appeared that the refs had no intention of intervening. It was going to take some serious damage to get anyone into the penalty box at this point.  
The serious damage had finally come.  
TJ Oshie lay facedown on the ice, clutching at his face as his legs squirmed in agony. Even from the height of the press box Tom could see the blood beginning to pool.  
It had been a cheap hit, a reaction to Oshie's shameless aggression in his play. And to be honest it wasn't an anomaly. Oshie constantly ticked opponents off; he was big and pushy and fucking skilled. But while pushing and shoving was the name of the game, it usually wouldn't escalate to an intentional stick to the face.  
'Cause I'm not fucking out there to set em straight,' Tom thought to himself bitterly.  
Guilt surged through Tom as he watched the trainer press a towel to his teammates leaking face and escort the forward towards the tunnel.  
Tom was missing these games because of what he had done.  
He was missing these games because he couldn't get his act together and adapt to the pansy expectations of a league that grew softer and softer each year.  
And his absence was felt. Perhaps not on the scoreboard but definitely in the physicality of play.  
Tom could intimidate those fuckers and defend his boys when he was out there.  
But up here he was helpless and the shame of that reality ate at him. 

Oshie didn't return for the third.  
The Capitals blew an early lead and lost by three freaking goals.  
So as soon as the final buzzer rang out, Wilson found himself rushing down stairs and through the concrete corridors that would lead him to the trainers room. The staff and reporters were just a blur of color and motion as the tall brunette shouldered his way through, but standing at the door he hesitated.  
Would Osh even want to see him right now?  
Gut churning and fists clinching, Tom stood unmoving and unable to enter that room.  
A hand on his shoulder startled him and he glanced over to see Backstrom peering at him with narrowed eyes - knowing eyes.  
"It's not your fault," he quietly chided.  
Before Tom could argue, Nicky tightened his grip and halted his attempt at a rebuttal with a sharp raise of his eyebrow. "Go on. He needs you. No one else can get him home but Ovi and I need him with me tonight."  
The massive forward felt his shoulders drop in defeat. He knew the alternate captain was right.  
"Okay. I will Papa."  
A small smile tugged at Nicky's lips but he turned away before it blossomed into anything more.  
The curly blonde swede ambled over to his giant captain and nudged at the mans knees to get him moving once more.  
Tom watched for a moment as Ovi finally began to peel of his gear.  
'Okay. I can do this', he mumbled to himself. Pressing open the door, Tom peered inside, eyes sweeping the room until they landed on his friend.  
For what it's worth, Oshie peeled open his eyes having heard the squeak of the door and grinned cheekily.  
"Fuck you Willy, I've got your nose now."  
"It's a wining look Timothy," Tom chirped right back.  
The tension of Tom's unease quickly filled the room though as he shifted from foot to foot, eyes on a filing cabinet across the way.  
Oshie let out a laboring sigh and shifted so he could fully face Tom.  
"I'm fine bud. No concussion. Just a clean break. It's cool. Really."  
Tom swallowed thickly and drew his gaze up towards his friend.  
Despite a medics efforts to clean the Washingtonian up, he still had speckles of crimson dried around his cheeks and chin. Dark bruising had blossomed under both eyes and the harsh pattern of several stitches seemed to crawl out of his reddened skin.  
Heart quickening Tom clinched his eyes shut to match the white-knuckled grip he'd already engaged the moment he'd walked in.  
"I'm sorry Osh. I'm gonna get it together. Gonna get back out there with you guys. Do my part."  
Oshie sighed again and it drew Tom's attention back to his friend.  
"Tom. Tommy listen here. We miss you, but tonight was a shit show. Like maybe you dropping the mitts could've slowed the burn but it was coming either way. It's really okay. I'm glad we aren't both sitting in this stupid room man."  
Tom bit his lip and gave a small nod of acknowledgement.  
"Yeah," he replied. "So let's get ya out of here yeah?"  
Oshie grinned and nodded enthusiastically, though the motion had him grimacing and pausing for a moment.  
"Yeah get me home bud. Long night."  
"Sucks man, could've been longer," Tom quipped.  
"Shut the fuck up."


End file.
